A Heart Possessed

by Katherine Sutcliffe

  "No. I'll summon Bea—"

  "Please." I left my chair and stood above her. Extending my arms, I said, "It would give me such pleasure . . ."

  Our gazes met. We smiled. In that instant our friendship was born. Accepting the child, I turned toward the door.

  "Ariel?"

  I stopped and faced her.

  "How is Nick?"

  "I cannot say as I have not seen him."

  "Not once? Is that Trevor's directive?" When I nodded, she looked away. "It's begun, then," she said so softly I barely heard her.

  "Meaning?"

  "His confinement, of course. It's what I dreaded most."

  "It's what you wanted."

  Her face colored. "Not true. I don't hate him, no matter what he's done. I think he never intentionally meant to hurt me. Yes, I'm certain of it, and if there were anything I could do to help him, then I would do it."

  "Do you mean that?"

  She came to her feet stronger and more determined than I had ever seen her.

  "Then do this," I told her. "Convince Trevor to let me see him."

  Eternal minutes slipped by as she watched me, then the child in my arms. When her keen eye came back to mine, she nodded.

  Adrienne was true to her word.

  "I would like to see Nicholas," she announced to Trevor over the shrill crying of the child, whose cheeks were burning with fever. I stepped away from their discussion, hoping to appear as disinterested as possible. It was then that I spotted Mr. Dix, sitting again on his perch beside the bookcase. He looked up and smiled as I approached.

  "I see the bleeding didn't help," I told him.

  "Put me off me food, it did," he responded.

  "Is it your head again?"

  "It's me gut. It were always me gut but I don't see what bleedin' me bloody belly button is goin' t' do t' help it."

  I pressed my palm against his forehead and asked as quietly as possible, "Have you seen Brabbs?"

  " 'e's out with Mary Francis, 'as been for two days. She's about gone, y' know. Slipped into sleep two days ago and ain't come out yet."

  I tipped his face up and looked into his eyes. "What was Mary's ailment?"

  " 'er sight was goin', her legs were gone, and, if you'll forgive the reference, so was her 'functions.' "

  Porphyria. I told him to open his mouth and stick out his tongue. "Did you say she suddenly lapsed into this sleep?"

  He did his best to nod.

  "Unusual," I said.

  "Me tongue?"

  Laughing, I shook my head. "Your tongue is fine, Mr. Dix." Lowering my voice, I added, "But if I were you I would hasten from this house as quickly as possible least Wyndham break out his jar of leeches."

  "Wot about me gut, lass?"

  "You have intestinal worms, Mr. Dix. Go home and take two doses of calomel in water: one in the morning and one at night for five days." As he slipped from his stool, I asked, "Has Doc Wyndham seen your friend Mary?"

  "Aye, the doc seen 'er last week, 'e were always good at ridin' out when she needed 1m."

  "Did she call him out regularly?"

  'Twice a week, usually."

  'Was she in pain?"

  "Oh aye. 'e give 'er laudanum for that." Lowering his voice, he said, " 'e might not be the doc that Brabbs is, but 'e's a kind heart and does Is best." Opening the door, he pulled his scarf up around his ears and stepped out into the sunlight. I walked a short way out with him and looked out over the line of trees at the edge of the garden. For the first time since the incident at the cemetery I thought of the night I had followed the tracks into those trees. Lightly touching the bump on the back of my head, I reentered the house.

  The child was still crying and wiggling on his mother's lap as I approached Trevor and Adrienne. I heard him say, "I really don't have time to argue with you, Adrienne. I've told you, for your own sake, just stay away from him. You would only upset yourself."

  "I should be no more upset than I am now," she responded. She glanced toward me, then back to Trevor. "I would like to see him."

  "You shouldn't be alone with Nick, Adrienne. He's not responsible for his actions."

  "Ariel will be with me." She held out her hand. "Please. I would like the key."

  The child let out an ear-piercing scream. Trevor grimaced, dug into his vest pocket, and withdrew the key. "If he shows any signs of violence—"

  "Then well leave." She took my arm as we turned and left the room. Once in the corridor and up the stairs, however, Adrienne wasn't so stalwart. "I'm not certain I can do this, see him this way."

  I marched determinedly to his door and held out my hand for the key.

  "Oh, I cannot bear it," she said, covering her face with her hands.

  "You may remain in the hall," I replied. "Now please, give me the key."

  "But what if he's violent?" "He won't be." "But—"

  Resolutely, I turned to face her. "He is not a lunatic. I refuse to believe it. Confused, yes. Angry, yes. Frightened? Most assuredly. But I am as confident of his nature as I am of my own. Give me the key, please, and let's put this matter to an end quickly." She pressed it into my palm.

  I turned for the door. Yet my hand shook. I can't deny it. Nor can I deny the many hours I had lain awake in the solitude of my room, remembering his face when he thought I was Jane. Such hatred had glittered in his eyes. Such loathing I had heard in his voice. The man who had wrapped his hands about my throat was hardly the man who had made love to me so sweetly two years before.

  I turned the key, and in another moment I was within the apartment.

  The hour was near noon, yet within these cloistered quarters darkness prevailed. I was forced to wait until my eyes adjusted to the change before moving farther into the room. And what a grand room it was, with soaring ceilings, velvet draperies, and ancient tapestries along the walls. Centered between two windows was a high bed of intricately carved walnut.

  An odd silence surrounded me, a silence filled with expectation. The bed was empty, as was the chair behind the great desk. Not until I turned did I find Nicholas. He sat in the shadows on an uncomfortable looking caquetoire with a hard high back. He watched me.

  I looked for signs of distress. There were none, so I approached him, cautiously at first, doing my best to see through the shadows. "My lord," I whispered. "Are you well?"

  He did not respond.

  "He doesn't know us," Adrienne said quietly behind me. "He doesn't even hear us."

  I saw his eyes widen at the sound of his sister's voice. "He hears us," I said.

  "I cannot bear to see him in this pitiful way. What shall we do?"

  "You will begin by keeping such comments to yourself while in his presence. Then you will do us a great favor by leaving us alone."

  "But that's not possible. Trevor said—"

  "I know what Trevor said." I faced her. "Adrienne, he needs companionship now, not solitude."

  "Then let me stay as well."

  "I'd rather you didn't."

  "Very well, then," She backed toward the door, her eyes never leaving her brother* "You'll call me if there's any change?"

  I closed the door behind her and locked it. Facing my lord, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and approached him again. There was something far too familiar in the glazed eyes staring straight ahead, in the lethargic manner in which he responded to my presence.

  "Here now," I said loudly, "this will never do, sitting solitary in this room like a bloody Cistercian monk from Fountains Abbey." Bending over him, my face near his, my hands propped upon the caquetoire's bowed arms, I asked, "Can you hear me? Aye, I know you can. Can you stand?" I pulled him up by the lapels of his dressing robe until he stood unsteadily before me. Wrapping his arms around my shoulders, I began walking him around the room. Finally, after nudging the chair toward the window, I placed him into it and flung aside the oppressive draperies, spilling brilliant light into the room.

  At once, Nicholas lifted his arms to shelter his eyes. "Th
at's what you get for living in a cave," I told him. Then I opened the window. The cold wind smacked him fully across the face.

  "That should do you," I said. I opened all the windows, allowing the room to grow bitterly cold while I climbed into his bed and pulled the coverlet up around my neck.

  I saw him glower at me several times from behind his arms and I told him, "If you're cold, milord, get up and close the window. If the light hurts your eyes, shut the drape." But he continued to sit in his chair until his entire body shook and his lips turned blue.

  I, meanwhile, continued to talk. I talked at length on the duties of a physician, mostly because the subject had always been of great interest to me. I told him that once I had worked in a hospital (of course I did not mention Oaks by name or why I had gone to that wretched institution in the first place), and that I had been allowed to assist some of the most influential and learned physicians outside of London. I added, with a sheepish smile, that I could no doubt teach Brabbs a trick or two.

  Then I spoke of Walthamstow, because I knew it was a devotion we both shared. "I love its dark windows and ponds reflecting the winter-gray welkin. I love the rooks and jackdaws that nest in the thatched roofs of the field houses. I love each ewe and lamb that graze her pastures. And," I added more softly, "I love you." A melancholy came over me then as I watched him shiver and look out the window. Leaving the bed, I sat upon the wide windowsill, drew my legs up to my chest, and rested my chin on my knee. The air was cold. Sunlight reflected from the snow on the trees, and water dripped quietly from the leaves of the house! Through the bare branches of the distant wood I could see Malham. Closer still, I saw Jim, with hounds in harness, making his way through an arched gateway I watched Polly hurry from the henhouse with her apron full of eggs. Then I looked back at Wyndham. His eyes regarded me.

  I cannot convey how I felt in that moment, the subject of his intimate perusal—and it was intimate, desirous and beguiling as a lover's. It flushed me with warmth, stirred within me an ache so painful and yet so wonderful I had to bite my lip to keep from weeping aloud. I was no stranger to that look. No indeed.

  "Lord Malham," I addressed him, aware my voice wavered. "Are you feeling better?"

  He continued to stare. Finally he moistened his lips slightly with his tongue and responded, "I'm bloodv cold, love."

  I leapt from the window, grabbed the counterpane from the bed, and spread it across his lap. Going to my knees beside him, I asked, "How are you feeling?"

  "Tired. How long have I slept?"

  "Do you remember going to sleep?"

  "I remember trying to wake up."

  "And you couldn't?"

  He shook his head and an ebon strand of hair spilled over his brow. I swept it back with my fingertips. "What is the last thing you remember, milord?"

  "Painting . . . something wasn't right. The face was wrong, all wrong. I became confused ..." He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the chair.

  "Nicholas, what do you dream of when you're asleep?"

  "Nightmares."

  "Of?"

  His eyes opened. "I dreamt of seeing my wife again. I dreamt of following her to the cemetery and of digging up her grave."

  "Is there anything else?"

  "There was someone standing over my bed." His voice became hoarse and tight. "And ..."

  "And?"

  "Bells."

  I sat back on my heels. "You heard bells?"

  "Small ones. Very, very small—God, my head hurts." He rubbed his temple, turned his face to one side, and said, "Close that damned drape. The light hurts my eyes."

  I did so with a flourish before facing him again.

  "I'm freezing," he said. I flew about the room, slamming closed each window and drawing the drapes. Then I hurried to the hearth and fanned the embers until a fire crackled and warmed my hands. When I returned to his side his eyes were closed. There was a smile on his lips.

  "Imagine," came his quiet, sleepy voice. "Imagine my waking from a nightmare to find you perched like some trembling little passerine on my windowsill."

  "Imagine," I whispered. "Just imagine."

  Chapter 11

  I stayed with Nicholas throughout the day watching 1 as he slept fitfully in his chair. He roused occasionally, opened his eyes, sat up, and looked about the room- Yet his consciousness was brief, and again he laid his head back and drifted to sleep. I had seen this behavior many times at Oaks. I recalled overhearing a Physician speaking to the relative of a severely depressed patient: "Sleep is the way of the body to avoid farther stress and confusion." That was often true: I had experienced it myself. Depression, however, was not the only cause of such behavior.

  I dozed, and when I awoke a chill touched my bones. The fire had died. Rubbing my eyes I Carted as a, knock on the door sounded in the silence. I quickly left the bed, withdrew the key from my pocket, and unlocked the door.

  Trevor brushed past me, a tray of food in his hand., well as a decanter of sherry. "Put some lights on in this bloody tomb," he said. As I hurried to light the candles, he asked, "How is he? Behaving himself, I hope. "Of course," I responded.

  "You may leave now." "I'd like to stay."

  Trevor looked my way briefly before sliding the tray onto a table beside Nick's chair. "You must be hungry by now, Miss Rushdon. Matilda has a wonderful kidney pie just out of the oven."

  Eyeing the pastry-covered stew on the plate, I felt my stomach rumble.

  Having pulled a chair up before my lord's, Trevor sat into it before looking toward me again. "Go on and eat, Ariel. You're too thin as it is." At my continued hesitance, he smiled. "Very well, then, come here."

  I hurried to him.

  "Has my brother awakened at all?"

  "Yes. Just after noon."

  "Ah! Progress, then. Tell me, how did he appear?"

  "Remote."

  "How do you mean? Did he know you?"

  I thought a moment. "I believed he knew me at first, but I'm not certain now."

  "But he spoke."

  "Oh yes. Definitely."

  Nicholas opened his eyes and looked at his brother.

  Trevor sat back in his chair. "Welcome back to the living, my lord. Haven't you grown weary of sleeping?"

  "I haven't been sleeping," he said.

  "No?" His blue eyes twinkling, Trevor glanced at me and smiled. "Tell me, then, what have you been doing all this time?"

  "Thinking."

  "Now that, my good man, can be utterly dangerous. Are you hungry?"

  "Famished."

  "I've brought your favorite dinner: kidney pie with Tilly's special crust."

  Nick pushed the counterpane from his lap as he attempted to stand.

  "Here, now," Trevor told him. "What are you trying to do?"

  "Get up."

  "Sit down and let me feed you,

  "No." He stumbled and grabbed the back of chair Nervously I stood my ground, encouraged by * show of independence. Trevor, however, was no inclined toward patience.

  "For God's sake, Nick, sit down before you hurt yourself."

  "I'm not a damned invalid. Yet. Let me alone.”

  Trevor reached for a spoon but had no more than lifted it from the tray when Nicholas flung out his hand, knocking it from his brother's fingers. Before either I or Trevor could recover from our surprise, he whirled, caught the table of food with his foot and sent it shattering to the floor. "And I don’t wan your rotten food. I'll tell you what I want: I want out of this miserable 'tomb,' as you so aptly call it. I want out now!"

  Slowly Trevor came to his feet. "That's not possible, he said.

  "Why?"

  "You aren't rational." "Meaning?"

  "You are a menace to yourself and others”

  "Whom have I hurt?"

  In a softer voice, Trevor said, "I think right now you would like to hurt me. Wouldn't you?" "Aye, very much. But I haven't, have 1 "Touche." "Give me the key." "The door isn't locked."

  Nicholas turned for the d
oor, and though I stepped forward and opened my mouth to protest, Trevor lift his hand, palm up, to silence me. His eyes and the shake of his head said, Let him go.

  And he did go, out through the door and into the darkness.

  'Why," I asked Trevor, "did you let him go? He is obviously overwrought."

  "We shouldn't make demands on him, Ariel. It would be dangerous to do so."

  "So you truly think he's dangerous?"

  "You saw for yourself."

  "So what purpose do you have of letting him go, if you believe he is capable of hurting himself or others? Would you have the entire village of Malham seeing him this way?"

  He shot me a fierce glance and I realized I had overstepped my limits. But he dismissed my blunder with a flip of his hand. "We're all upset. Seeing my brother like this grieves me more than you know."

  "Have you spoken to Brabbs concerning Lord Malham?" I asked him.

  "Certainly. Many times. He agrees with my prognosis and believes Nick should be put away."

  I did not like that term: "put away." It made Nicholas sound like an animal without human feelings. I kept my opinion to myself, however. Trevor had forgiven my earlier error. He might be less gracious next time.

  Adrienne entered the room then. Wringing her hands, she looked at her brother, then to me. "Polly said she saw Nick—"

  "Aye," he interrupted, "he's gone." Kicking aside the tray at his feet, he started for the door.

  "What will you do?" his sister asked.

  Without responding, he left the room.

  An hour later I stood in Brabbs's house, warming my hands before a fire. I had roused him from a nap and now he stooped over a bowl of cold water, rinsing the sleep from his eyes.

  "It was a long vigil," he declared as he reached for the linen I held in my fingers. "Mary Francis is peace now. God rest her soul."

  "She died of porphyria?"

  "Aye."

  "Her death was quite sudden for porfhyria;

  He peeked at me from behind his linen. What do you know about porphyria, girl?"

  "There were cases at Oaks. The sight is usually the first to go, then the power of locomotion and the control over die bladder. It is very painful and brings forth a very slow and agonizing demise. The victims at Oaks were interned there because they soon became a hindrance to their family, and, of course, an embarrassment." I lifted one brow to punctuate the remark. -Did you come here to discuss Mary Francis and porphyria, Maggie, or to exaggerate my guilt ^ "Neither. I've come here to discuss Nicholas. His look became dark. "Ah." "I understand you feel he should be locked away. "Do I?" He threw his linen down and turned away.